


brighten up these dark days

by robin_hoods



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Canonical Character Death, Christmas Tree Decorating, Family, Fucking Starkles, I'm sorry for inflicting this on you, M/M, What Was I Thinking?, obligatory christmas fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 15:35:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1095688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robin_hoods/pseuds/robin_hoods
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Sit down, Robb,” Theon tells his boyfriend who is busy fretting over their Christmas tree. “If you give it any more sparkles, it's gonna die of an aneurysm.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	brighten up these dark days

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know when I came up with this, let alone how, and I really am very sorry. Third (and probably last) contribution for Theon week.

“Sit down, Robb,” Theon tells his boyfriend who is busy fretting over their Christmas tree. “If you give it any more sparkles, it's gonna die of an aneurysm.” It doesn't matter how often he tells him that; within minutes, Robb will stand up again to pace back and forth, and from one thing comes the next. Frankly, Theon finds it ridiculous.

“I don't see why you couldn't help out. You know I wanted you to,” Robb says as he flops down on the couch next to Theon.

“You're the one that insisted we had to put a fucking tree in our living room in the middle of December.” And it's not that Theon doesn't understand why Robb cares so much about Christmas (or any other family holiday, for that matter); he just doesn't see the point of putting so much effort in something he won't get anything back for. It's not like his own family is going to show up for dinner.

“If I remember correctly,” Robb says, brushing shoulders with Theon on purpose, “I'd do the tree, and you'd take care of dinner.”

“If I didn't, we'd have take-out tonight,” Theon counters, “and as much as I like Chinese, I don't want to eat it every day. Nor do I think that's what your family wants to eat on Christmas Day.”

“Don't be a spoilsport.” Robb's smiling while he says it, “My cooking isn't that bad.”

“Okay, fine. Robb, you are the most magnificent cook in the history of the universe. You make me a happy man every day you decide not to set foot into the kitchen, because it means I'll live another day.”

“Now that's just ridiculous. I would never _intentionally_ kill you.”

“That's exactly my point, which is why I do all the cooking in this house. Flat. Apartment. Whatever it is.” Robb laughs, and takes no time in swinging one of his legs over Theon's lap.

“If you want to stop me from adjusting the tree any further, you better do something to keep me here. You might end up with starkles in your hair if you don't.”

“In that case, I know just the-- did you just say starkles?” Their noses briefly touch when Robb leans back.

“Yeah?” he says, looking a bit confused.

“You just said--” Theon covers his mouth while he tries not to wheeze, he's laughing that hard, and Robb just sitting there looking like he really doesn't get why it's so funny somehow makes it even worse.

Eventually, Robb manages to shut him up with a kiss on his lips, another on his jaw, his neck, his ear, his hands slipping behind Theon to pull himself closer. Before they even manage to get any further, the doorbell rings.

“Best go and see who that is,” Theon says, “before they wonder if I kidnapped you and tied you to my bed.”

“But you did,” Robb protests, and yelps when Theon pinches his butt.

“You owe me an answer about the starkles,” Theon yells when he disappears into the hall. “The answer better not be disappointing!”

He can hear Robb answer the door, inviting his family in. He can hear the shuffling of their feet on the ugly ass carpet, the rustling of their coats as they take them off, the soft murmur of voices drifting through the closed door.

“Your Christmas tree is lovely, Robb,” is the first thing Sansa says when she steps inside.

“Are you kidding?” Arya's voice follows from behind her. “It's so bright it hurts my eyes. What setting did you put your lights on, extra blinding?”

“There's no such setting,” Sansa replies before she notices Theon on the sofa, and she clutches her handbag tightly before she moves over to shake his hand, ever the perfect lady. From the corner of his eye, Theon sees Arya roll her eyes and hears her sigh loudly.

It's probably a good thing that Robb finished when he did, because their living room had been a mess for most of the afternoon – and he hopes no one will walk into the kitchen tonight because he hasn't even bothered cleaning up. (Two weeks from now, they will find a small pool of cranberry sauce behind the refrigerator, happily gathering mould.)

The other Stark siblings quickly gather in their living room (Rickon almost immediately jumps their tree, shouting “STARKLES!” Several decorations do not survive the assault), even Jon Snow who is usually absent from family gatherings such as these. For a change, he doesn't look as if he just bit into something sour – he actually looks happy while he pushes Bran's chair through the open door. He and Robb share a brotherly hug, and they all manage to squeeze in after exchanging pleasantries and putting presents underneath the tree.

It's the first time they're all together again at Christmas, since their parents died, Theon realises. They haven't spent Christmas together since Robb moved out, since Jon joined the military, since Sansa broke up with her awful boyfriend. Not since Arya's shotgun wedding with some guy named Gendry, who she met while he was apparently fixing her car; she only announced she got married after it had already happened. Theon still gleefully remembers Mrs Stark's shrill scream when Arya blandly shared that piece of information at a dinner where he'd been present.

They're just about ready to sit down at the dinner table when the doorbell rings again, and seeing as Robb is currently too busy with his siblings, Theon wiggles out of his own seat to open the door.

“Asha!” he says, surprised. “I wasn't expecting you.”

“Well,” she says, “I just thought I didn't want my little brother to spend his Christmas alone, sentimental sap that I am. So I've come to keep you company with a bottle of jack, if you don't mind?”

“I'm not gonna refuse alcohol if you offer it,” Theon says as he steps aside, “we were just about to have dinner, actually.”

“We?” she looks slightly surprised and walks into the living room with her coat still on. Six heads turn to look at her. “Well, in that case...”

“Why don't you join us?” Theon asks. “I mean, I'm sure we can find a chair somewhere, and it's not as if we don't have enough food. Besides...” Theon is not exactly the type to wax poetic about his feelings, but what the hell, it's Christmas. “You're my family, too. Stay. Please.”

Sansa and Arya both scoot over a bit (mostly so they don't have to sit next to each other), and just as Theon sits down again Rickon manages to launch his third potato in the gravy standing across Bran, who calmly fishes them out of the bowl, puts them on his plate and cuts them in half.

“By the way,” Arya says around a mouthful, “Gendry's coming over later. He was gonna come with us, but there was a last minute emergency that couldn't wait, so he said he'd show up after work. I mean, if that's okay with you?”

“I don't know,” Theon says, “Gendry's a big fellow, I don't know if there's enough room for him. What do you think, Robb?”

“Well, I suppose if he takes a look at my car that we can manage another man. Or two.”

Arya frowns. “You guys suck.”

“Literally,” Theon quips, and Robb groans into his hands. It's quiet for a moment, the only sounds being the clattering of knives and forks on plates. “So,” Theon says, breaking the silence, “which of you Starks is willing to share the starkle story?”


End file.
